Every Single Inch
by ilovecastiel18
Summary: It's been six months since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. It's winter, and Crowley shows up at the bookshop and practically wraps himself around Aziraphale to warm up, because he's cold-blooded and it's cold outside. He finds out that Aziraphale has self-image issues, and tried to rectify that. Aziraphale/Crowley. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, romance. One-Shot.


**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Summary: **It's been six months since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. It's winter, and Crowley shows up at the bookshop and practically wraps himself around Aziraphale to warm up, because he's cold-blooded and it's cold outside. He finds out that Aziraphale has self-image issues, and tried to rectify that. Aziraphale/Crowley. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, romance. One-Shot.

….

Every Single Inch

….

Crowley hates winter.

He has hated winter since the invention of winter. He's a snake – a cold-blooded creature, and a demon, meaning he used to cramped hallways and Hellfire; so whenever winter rolls around, Crowley always finds that he's shivering, teeth-chattering cold at all times, no matter how high he cranks the heat in his flat or how many blankets he wraps around himself.

It's been six months since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and things had gone back to normal. Which meant that Crowley and Aziraphale had a standing engagement every Thursday. Whether they would go out to eat, or go to the park and feed the ducks, or get drunk in the backroom of the bookshop was entirely dependent on the weather and their opinions on what they should do, which meant that Crowley usually ended up going to the bookshop where they would decide.

So, that's where Crowley found himself today – bundled up in about six layers of clothing, frost in his hair, as he fiddled with the Bentley's lock with his frozen fingers. He finally settled on using his powers to get into the blasted car, and to get the heat cranked up as far as it would go as soon as he stepped foot in the vehicle.

As he sat in the driver's seat and held his frostbitten fingers (honestly, he had barely even stepped outside yet; he hated being cold-blooded) to the heaters, he let himself reminisce about his time with Aziraphale.

Meeting in the Garden of Eden, seeing Noah filling the Ark before the flood, watching Jesus be crucified, meeting in the Globe Theater and watching Aziraphale smile as he made Hamlet a hit despite preferring the funny ones, stopping the Apocalypse together…

Crowley cursed himself for not having the courage to admit to Aziraphale that he loved him as soon as they had saved the world. That would have been the perfect time to say something like _hey, Aziraphale, I just thought that you should know that I've been madly in love with you since we met in the Garden of Eden. Would it be alright if I kissed you?_

Now, it had been six months since the prophesized end of the world, and the moment had passed. Still, Crowley found that he always looked forward to his meetings with Aziraphale, because at least they were still friends. They could have parted ways after the Apocalypse, because there was no longer a need for the Arrangement now that they were separated from Heaven and Hell.

But they hadn't separated, which was something that Crowley was infinitely grateful for.

As he started up the car and pulled away from the curb, his fingers no longer blue, he found himself thanking his lucky stars that he even got to meet Aziraphale to begin with. He was shocked, to say the least, that the opportunity had even presented itself. Sure, Aziraphale was the guardian of the Eastern Gate, and Crowley was the original Tempter, but… having the opportunity to meet and talk to the angel? To develop a friendship with him that had lasted six millennia, and could potentially last six more? It was… curious.

And then he was in front of the bookshop, because he drove like a maniac (not that he would admit that in front of Aziraphale), and he felt his fingers freeze solid as he stepped out of his warm car.

It only took him a few moments to lock the Bentley and make his way into the bookshop, but he felt like he was a block of ice as he shivered his way through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

He made his way over to where Aziraphale was standing by his desk, and, in a moment of desperation, and a bit of bravery, wrapped his arms around the angel from behind, pressing his frozen fingers through the gaps between the buttons on Aziraphale's waistcoat.

He pressed his face into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, moving as close to his warm body as possible.

He heard Aziraphale spluttering and grabbing at his hands, which were firmly pressed into the angel's stomach, but he refused to let go.

"What are you _doing, _Crowley?!" Aziraphale yelled, twisting out of his grip and moving to the other side of the desk. He adjusted his wrinkled coat, his hands unconsciously making their way to his soft stomach.

"I'm cold, angel." Crowley sniffed, holding up his blue-tinged fingers. "I'm a snake; winter and I aren't friends. That's why I usually stay in my flat until spring."

"Well, that doesn't mean you can just…" Aziraphale motioned vaguely to his stomach.

"We're friends, Aziraphale. I didn't think you would mind. I've hugged you before." Crowley replied, confused. Honestly, what was with him? They'd been together through thick and, well, thick, he didn't think the angel would mind if he used him for a little bit of body heat.

"Yes, well… just say something next time." Aziraphale looked down at the floor, absentmindedly adjusting his waistcoat, which was stretched across his round little stomach.

And that's when it clicked for Crowley.

"Are… are you self-conscious about your stomach?" he asked quietly.

Aziraphale blushed so deeply that he could have been related to a tomato. "I don't know what you mean." He muttered, turning away.

"You are." Crowley concluded, with a note of finality.

He was angry. He was angry at the other angels, for always belittling and bullying Aziraphale for not being like the rest of them. Bullying him for enjoying small Earthly pleasures like food and books, and for having a little bit of a stomach to show it.

He was furious at himself, for never noticing Aziraphale's struggles, for never assuring him that he was, frankly, _adorable, _and his stomach just added to that conclusion.

Crowley hated himself for never being there for his friend when he needed him. If he had only assured Aziraphale, just once or twice, that he wasn't fat, and he didn't need to be self-conscious… maybe they wouldn't be in this situation.

Breathing hot air onto his fingers to try to chase the cold away, Crowley quietly walked over to where Aziraphale was still turned away from him, fiddling with his jacket.

"Aziraphale, look at me." He commanded softly. He saw a blush creep up the back of the angel's neck and curl around his ears. "Aziraphale…"

Aziraphale turned around at Crowley's soft, pleading tone, looking at the floor in embarrassment.

In another moment of bravery, Crowley loosely looped his arms around Aziraphale's waist and pulled the angel up against him. This served two purposes: one, it made it so he could absorb some of Aziraphale's body heat and stop being so bloody _cold. _Two, and most importantly, it forced Aziraphale to look into his eyes and see his sincere he was.

Crowley reached up with one hand and took off his sunglasses, discarding them on the cluttered desk. He looped the arm back around Aziraphale's waist and looked the angel directly in the eyes.

"I'm not sure that this will make much of a difference, angel, but I think you're gorgeous. It doesn't matter if you have a bit of a stomach, or if you're a little on the shorter side, or anything else that may be bothering you. Your body is so… _you, _and I don't think anybody who gives a damn about you would judge you for what you look like." Crowley paused, grabbing onto one of Aziraphale's hands and holding it against the angel's heart.

"It doesn't matter what Gabriel or Michael or anybody else says. It doesn't matter what other people look like, or what the new style is. What matters is what's in here," Crowley squeezed the hand that was still pressed against Aziraphale's heart. "Your body is yours and yours alone, and it suits you perfectly. I love you, every single inch of you, regardless of the roundness of your stomach or the crow's feet by your eyes., because you're _you._ Our imperfections make us who we are, and…" Crowley paused, leaning forward to place his forehead against Aziraphale's, "I wouldn't trade you for the world."

….

Aziraphale felt his heart flutter under his hand as Crowley finished his speech.

He couldn't believe that he spent so many years denying Crowley when he was such a good person, such a good friend, such a good…

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had caught his little slip, how he had admitted that he loved him in the middle of his rant.

Aziraphale smiled at the love he heard in Crowley's voice, the love that was radiating off the demon in waves so large that it felt like he was being pelted by tsunamis.

"I love you too, Crowley." He muttered.

"Did I…"

"Yes." Aziraphale turned their clasped hands so they were pressed against Crowley's heart. "I knew anyway. I can feel it, dear." He paused, unsure how he could say all the things he wanted to say. "I… I know that you also struggle with some things, Crowley. I know that changing one's appearance can be… well, it can be a sign of depression. I know that it also has to do with you getting bored, but… well I know that it can't be easy being the only demon who cares about anything or anyone. I've been down to Hell, I've seen what it's like. So, I know that that fact that you change your hair and clothes all the time is a sign that you're, well, pushing, no… using your appearance to mask your other insecurities. But I love you. I love you for you, dear. I…" he paused again, lifting his head so he could kiss Crowley's forehead. "Thank you, Crowley."

Aziraphale felt Crowley shiver, and, even though he knew that it probably _wasn't _from cold, since they were pressed together so closely that he had to have absorbed enough body heat to be at least a decent temperature, he pulled Crowley closer. He wrapped his arms around the demon's back, resting his cheek against Crowley's ear as the redhead buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"You were right that it doesn't matter what Heaven and Hell think anymore. It doesn't matter that Gabriel thinks I'm fat, or that Beelzebub thinks you're more worthless than the rest of the demons down in Hell. We'll always have each other, Crowley, and that's what matters." Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley straightened up, lifting a hand to Aziraphale's cheek and cupping it with his palm, stroking a thumb across a cheekbone. "You're astounding, Aziraphale." He muttered.

And then Aziraphale couldn't stop himself, and he lifted a hand to the back of Crowley's neck and pulled the demon's face down to his own, pausing when their lips were hardly an inch apart. "Can I…"

And then Crowley leaned and closed the gap between them, kissing Aziraphale as if he was a precious gem, something that he might never find again. Something that he had to protect at all costs.

And if Crowley woke up the next morning on the couch in the backroom, Aziraphale curled up next to him… well, he wasn't going to complain. Because he had wanted to fall asleep next to his angel for six _thousand _years. He was so… astonishingly grateful that he could love his angel the way that he wanted.

As he stood from the couch, moving aside at least six blankets that had been piled on top of them, because Aziraphale had insisted that he might get cold in the middle of the night.

Crowley stood and moved to the kitchen to make tea for the pair of them, allowing himself the thought that, _it was about damn time he told Aziraphale how he felt…_


End file.
